


A Hermit Crab Named Desire

by insomnnni



Series: On The Subject of Storm Clouds [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Gen, Hair, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Like...doing hair, Oh I almost forgot:, Rating is for the swearing that’s it, Touch-Starved Virgil, Virgil-centric, and I legit can’t remember wtf I wrote, and one almost panic attack, books are the windows to the heart, fuck eyes, im writing the tags w/out looking at the fic, lol this is tooooootally not based on my own experiences, not eyes, t o u c h i n g, theres like one panic attack, um
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 11:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19005328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomnnni/pseuds/insomnnni
Summary: Three Times Patton, Roman, and Logan Ask To Touch Virgil and One Time He Tells Them What He Wants





	A Hermit Crab Named Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so you don’t have to read the previous fic to mostly understand this one, but it will provide context. Hope you enjoy!

1\. Virgil honestly shouldn’t have been so surprised. He should have expected it, because when does anything go right for _Anxiety_ without consequences. Like all things both astonishingly incredible and absolutely horrible, it happened at three in the morning.

 

After the Virgil-centric group hug that warmed his entire being, the four sides came to the conclusion that they would be having a sleepover on the couch. Because what better way is there to enjoy physical contact in a casual setting? Logan convinced the anxious side to change into a loose t-shirt and shorts for the purpose of “optimum heat exchange” (A.K.A. “perfectly pawsome cuddles,”  A.K.A. “the warming of the dark and stormy night that is your soul”). The logical side gave a ten minute explanation as to why a t-shirt was preferable in this situation that essentially boils down to this: the more skin exposed, the more skin-to-skin contact, which is more effective than contact through layers of clothing.

 

Roman, of course, made the executive decision to strip down to his briefs with no hesitation whatsoever, while Patton and Logan joined Virgil’s choice of a long t-shirt and boxers.

 

And then there was only bliss. Patton, Roman, and Logan were touching some part of Virgil at all times. They never gave him a moment to be cold, and he loved them for it (not that he would tell them such, not _yet_ at least) and it was only after all four sides had fallen asleep that things began to go downhill.

  
  


**3:07AM, approximately four hours after Virgil fell asleep**

 

Virgil awoke to the echoes of insults reverberating in his skull.

 

He could hear Roman yelling at him, telling him how he hurts Thomas by stopping him from meeting people and having fun. He hears Logan berating him, scolding him for his illogical decisions concerning Thomas’ safety and keeping him isolated instead. He hears Patton crying, sobbing because Virgil’s restrictions on Thomas’ actions go past the point of affecting his creativity and go straight to suffocating his heart.

 

These accusations and waves upon waves of self-hate began to drown Virgil and suddenly he can’t breathe. He instinctively curls himself into a ball on the couch, jostling Patton whose head had been a solid weight on his arm, but the anxious side was too lost in his own mind to notice as the moral side’s eyes opened.

 

—

 

Patton can’t say he wasn’t shocked to wake up to Virgil having a panic attack, but he’d be lying if he said he was surprised either. It was only logical that the manifestation of anxiety would have panic attacks and Patton had prepared for this situation, knowing it was probably only a matter of time before he witnessed one of them.

 

So Patton stood and moved so that he was standing in front of Virgil, who was shaking and occasionally releasing quiet whimpers into the palms of his hands. He was nearly silent, Roman and Logan remaining asleep. Patton crouched down to where he was eye level with Virgil and slowly, gently reached out to touch his arms. The anxious side flinched but soon relaxed into the touch, and Patton carefully brought Virgil’s hands to the moral side’s chest.

 

The manifestation of Thomas’ heart breathed in deeply and began counting in a low and steady voice, “In one, two, three, four. Hold one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Out one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.” He repeated himself as Virgil’s breath began to slow, stopping only when their breaths were fully synced and Virgil’s hands had fallen from his chest, only to be cradled within Patton’s soft palms.

 

“Hey, Love,” Patton spoke in a near whisper, rubbing circles into the backs of Virgil’s hands with his thumbs, “Are you with me? Can you hear my voice, feel my hands?”

 

Virgil lifted his head to meet Patton’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but no words escaped, so he nodded instead. The two smiled shakily at each other and Patton dipped his head to peck the backs of Virgil’s hands, gazing up at him through his eyelashes. As he lifted his head he whispered, “Virge, can I hold you? Just for a while. I’d...I’d like to feel you in my arms, it that’s okay with you.” A pause, in which no words were uttered and Virgil’s form noticeably stiffened. “I mean, you don’t have to say yes. Obviously. I don’t want to pressure you. Do you feel pressured? I’m sorry if you feel pressured. Oh, wait, I’m sorry for assuming you—oh!”

 

Patton was _definitely_ surprised when Virgil practically leapt into his arms and shoved his nose into his neck. The weight of the anxious side caused Patton to rock backwards but he quickly stabilized himself and held Virgil securely in his arms. Patton moved his hands in circles on Virgil’s back and silently rejoiced when he felt the anxious side’s breaths even out, allowing his own eyes to fall shut as he drifted into unconsciousness.

  
  


This is the position Logan and Roman found them in, at seven in the morning, leaning on each other’s shoulders and clinging to each other’s backs as faint smiles graced their faces and drool dried on their shirts. (Roman takes pictures, of course, and Logan doesn’t tell him no, which is basically enthusiastic encouragement coming from the logical side.)

  
  


2\. Virgil’s hair has always been a problem. It sticks up all the time, is always ruffled or in some semblance of disarray, and, to him, looks messy and stupid no matter what he does with it. And that’s why, at 9:20AM, almost a half hour after the sides usually eat breakfast, Virgil is still holed up in his room—the bathroom, specifically—attempting (and tragically failing) to tame the beast resting upon his head.

 

“Goddamnit,” Virgil muttered to himself as he styled, restyled, then re-restyled his hair. “Can’t you just look _decent_ for once?” He sifted his hair through his fingers, then moved it to one side. Then the other. He flattened it so it covered his face, then pushed it back. Then pushed it forward again.

 

After repeating this nearly fifteen times, tears began to gather in the anxious side’s eyes. He stopped, leaving his hair alone but glaring at it in the mirror, despising the way it stuck up like a unicorn horn—without the elegance  _or_ the rainbows, of course. When he was no longer in danger of breaking down over his hair he rested his hands on the edge of the sink, stood there for nearly five minutes, and had just resigned himself to hiding in his room all day when he was startled by a rhythmic series of knocks on his bedroom door.

 

He dashed out of the bathroom to his bed, snatching his hoodie from where it had lain over the covers, slipping it on and flipping the hood over his head in record time. “Um—Come in!” he said as he pulled the zipper up to his collarbones.

 

It was Roman who opened the door, pushing it far wider than was necessary with a grin on his face that didn’t really reach his eyes. “ _Buenos días_ , my emo nightmare!” The princely side sauntered over to Virgil, where he was standing totally not suspiciously in front of his bed, hands stuffed deep in his pockets and eyes laser-focused on his bare toes even as he mumbled a meek _Morning_.

 

His quiet response caused Roman to halt a few feet away from Virgil and frown slightly. When he spoke, his tone was much more concerned and solemn, as if a switch had been flipped. “Virge, love? Pat, Lo, and I were a bit worried ‘cause you’ve been up here for a while. Is...Is there anything I can do? Or something that the others can help with?”

 

Virgil, without looking up, rapidly shook his head, stopped abruptly, then nodded slowly. Roman made no noise, allowing Virgil to sort through his thoughts in silence. This—the space and time that Roman offered him— _this_ is what made Virgil sigh and quickly ( _like a bandaid, just gotta rip it off_ ) remove his hood, his bird’s nest on display.

 

The anxious side held his breath, awaiting Roman’s reaction, and nearly hiccuped when he saw the other’s feet move closer to his, their toes almost touching. Roman’s voice was gentle and caring when he said, barely above a whisper, “Love, if you would allow me, I believe that I could be helpful. You should know you’re beautiful—inside and out—no matter what your hair looks like, but if it is truly bothering you…” Roman paused, quite dramatically, and Virgil began clicking his tongue anxiously. The prince inhaled deeply and dropped down on one knee, Virgil’s eyes finally meeting his, and declared, “Then it is a dragon that simply _must_ be slain!”

 

And what could Virgil do but smile and giggle ever so softly as he was struck, once again, with the realization of how much he absolutely adores Roman, and exactly _why_ he is so astonishing.

 

The romantic side smiled fondly at Virgil’s reaction and spoke once again, “So, Virgil dear, if I wasn’t clear, will you let me near...to style your hair? Ooh! That rhymed. Kind of.”

 

Virgil puffed out a breath of laughter and, instead of responding verbally, he slipped his hands from his pockets and took Roman’s in his own, encouraging him to stand up. Virgil then released one of the prince’s hands and turned, pulling him into the bathroom where he strode in front of the mirror and rested Roman’s hand atop his head.

 

It was only when the anxious side met Roman’s gaze in the mirror and saw the shock within them that he realized how bold he’d been, and had begun to stutter out an apology for touching without asking when he felt both of Roman’s hands in his hair, running his fingers through the strands delicately.

 

Virgil immediately relaxed, his eyes slipping closed without his permission as he subconsciously leaned into the hands on his scalp. Roman smiled softly, though Virgil could not see, and began to style Virgil’s hair with confidence and a tenderness that made Virgil feel all mushy inside.

 

When Roman was finished, approximately five minutes after he’d begun, Virgil found himself missing his touch. He didn’t say anything though because, well, he’s not _supposed_ to want that, is he? As Roman and Virgil walk to the kitchen, the fanciful side telling a story about slaying a dragon-witch or something similar, the manifestation of Thomas’ anxiety attempts, and surprisingly succeeds, at convincing himself that it’s... _okay_ and hopefully acceptable for him to want more physical contact. After all, Logan did say he’s touch-starved and that his body is more sensitive to touch.

 

(Logan also explained that this sensitivity can work both ways—either making touch especially relaxing or painful. That’s why Roman and the others are so hesitant to initiate contact with him, even though he hasn’t felt any pain at all.)

 

These thoughts race through Virgil’s head as the two continue walking and he opens his mouth, mentally bracing himself for either rejection or understanding. Roman turned to face him, noticing Virgil’s movements and giving the anxious side his full attention. “Roman, I—“

 

“Hey, kiddos! Ready for breakfast?”

 

Virgil’s jaw snapped shut and his head turned so quickly his neck hurt. Neither he nor Roman had realized they’d entered the living room and Virgil immediately lost all bravery and any inclination to continue—well, _begin_ —expressing his feelings.

 

So Virgil smiled at Patton as they walked into the kitchen, seating himself next to Logan and across from Patton, watching as Roman entirely forgot about talking to Virgil and instead poured his energy into complimenting Patton’s pancakes and declaring his undying love for the paternal side.

 

Virgil came to the conclusion that he would discard his desires for now, reassuring himself that he would talk to Roman another time. (Lost in his thoughts, the anxious side never noticed Logan’s shrewd gaze resting on his form—nor the concerned and inquisitive glint in his eyes.)

  


3\. It’s a week after what Virgil has dubbed as the Hair Incident (and The Near-confession That Accompanied It)—yes, that’s what he named it. Including the parenthetical text—and Virgil is, well, living up to his title. You know, _anxiety_.

 

He’d been doing nothing out of the ordinary, actually trying to relax, headphones over his ears and phone in his hand as he lay on his bed when his brain just started doing that...thing. That thing where it reminds him, over and over again, how worthless he is, how much of an annoyance he is, his stupidity and neediness and everything in between and it _hurts_.

 

He rips the headphones off his head, slipping them around his neck as he pokets his phone, nearly running from his room. Virgil’s feet lead him to Roman’s door and he lifts his fist, preparing to knock, before dropping it. He remembers Patton and Roman being so excited about doing their nails together today and the anxious side can’t bring himself to interrupt.

 

So he hastily makes his way to the living room instead where he finds Logan on one end of the couch, reading what seems to be a book at least six inches thick. Virgil is overcome with the sudden urge to press himself into Logan’s side and stay there forever so, of course, he settles himself on the opposite end of the couch.

 

But the anxious side is honestly desperate for some contact, more than usual, so he shuffles closer to Logan. _Just a little bit closer_ , he thinks. _Don’t even have to touch him, just...a little bit closer_. Virgil shuffles even closer to the point that he’s in this middle of the couch now, and he watches as the logical side leisurely flips a page in his book.

 

Virgil keeps his eyes on Logan as he shuffles once more, and when the other side doesn’t look up he continues until he’s so close he can feel the heat radiating from Logan’s body.

 

Then Logan moves, and it startles Virgil so much that he flinches and nearly falls off the couch, his eyes snapping shut. When he recovered and looked back to the logical side, his arm was laying on the back of the couch, behind Virgil’s head. Logan’s gaze remained on his book as he said, in an even, kind, and questioning voice, “Do you want come here, closer to me? You are welcome to rest your head on my chest or arm if you’d prefer. I do not mind in the least, but I will remove my arm from behind you if I’ve misinterpreted your body language.”

 

The anxious side froze at these unexpected words, processing slowly, before tentatively sliding into the logical side’s space. Logan wrapped his hand around Virgil’s shoulder and he snuggled himself into the dark blue polo, closing his eyes as his breathing began to match the other side’s. Logan’s hand moved on Virgil’s shoulder, rubbing gently and rhythmically, and Virgil began to drift off, his last conscious thoughts consisting of _warmsafehomeloganloganloganlogan..._

  
  
  


Three hours later, when Virgil awoke, he found that Logan was still beneath him, and that his book lay on the floor, as if dropped. He peered up at the logical side’s face only to find that he was asleep, snoring lightly. And if anyone asked Virgil, he would say that he absolutely _did not_ smile fondly at the sight of Logan resting. He _did not_ carefully (and reluctantly) remove himself from his position on Logan’s chest, only to lift and carry the side to his room, depositing him gently onto the crisp blue and black bed sheets. He definitely, positively _did not, never ever_ bend down to delicately kiss Logan’s forehead. Nope, definitely not.

 

(It goes without saying that Virgil returned to the living room to lift Logan’s book from the floor and set it onto the couch, because any smart person knows that the way to a reader’s heart is through their books.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> So um. The next chapter is gonna be the plus one. I was gonna do this all in a oneshot but I was like,,,nah. So here you go. If you didn’t notice, this is a series now, and there will definitely be more to come. Thanks for reading this I guess. Love y’all
> 
> P.S. kudos and comment fuel me so if you want more content or just wanna make a (possibly creepy) stranger smile then please do :)


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